


One Little Spark

by WaferBiscuits



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Neurodivergent Saihara Shuichi, Nonbinary K1-B0 (Dangan Ronpa), Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Panic Attacks, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29108727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaferBiscuits/pseuds/WaferBiscuits
Summary: Keebo struggles with the intensity of both the killing game as well as the people within it. Shuichi has his own baggage, but helps. He tries to, anyway.
Relationships: K1-B0/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39





	1. Prologue I

K1-B0 was unfamiliar with many emotions. His sterile life with the Professor had secured a life that was nothing but a dull drone. He felt something like a twinge very often, and he was told that this was ‘loneliness’.

Feelings like ‘fear’ and ‘giddy’ and ‘nauseas’ was described to him often, yet always beyond his grasp at every turn. He pestered the Professor for DVDs, Blu-Rays, zip drives of pirated television content, and even mystery VCR tapes from thrift stores.

Movies had helped him understand. They gave him a bedrock to build on and to understand human complexities through the stories they told. Stories couldn’t make him human. He didn’t even want to be human, not really. 

The Professor’s lab was a small and unstimulating place with scrubbed linoleum and fluorescents that made his eyes hurt. For years, maybe a decade, it was K1-B0’s entire world. 

A single window gave witness to the outside, a courtyard, though K1-B0 did not know the term. All he could see was a fuzzy green carpet two stories down. The movies told him it was grass, a common phenomenon in ‘nature’. 

K1-B0 would often stare ‘outside’, especially during the day. He’d watch humans walk below him and follow them with his big, illuminous eyes that showed nothing but stupid curiosity. 

“Professor, I want to see that,” he would ask. In his hardware, he had meant it sound like pleading, but his voice modulator was still quite primitive. It came out monotone and harsh instead.

At least once a week, he would ask. Always, the Professor would shake his head and tell him no. He’d gesture to K1-B0’s wiring, a nest of cables that tethered him from the small of his spine to a power adapter the size of a mattress. 

“No, you can’t leave. I haven’t figured out how to make it possible,” the Professor would say. K1-B0 was never able to tell if that was genuine or just an excuse. Regardless, it didn’t change the reality. He was chained to this one room, for better or worse.

One morning, well before the Professor’s usual arrival, K1-B0 wandered to the window. He liked the time of day when the sun came up, when the sky turned dusty pink and slowly bled into orange. 

Movement caught his eyes. He glanced down, the gears of his eyes whirring. His pupils dilated and his eyes zoomed in on something. It moved on four legs, had an elongated snout and sported two dish-shaped ears that rotated on its head like radio receivers. It had eyes that looked like oil drops. Its feet seemed dipped in resin, not at all like the flabby paws of the ‘dogs’ he was more familiar with.

“That was a deer you saw,” the Professor had told him, smiling. “They don’t often show up on campus. You were lucky to see one.”

K1-B0 did not know what the word ‘campus’ meant. He didn’t care. It was a word he could look up on his own. It didn’t live and breathe and feel like the deer.

“Please, Professor,” K1-B0 pleaded, his own voice static in his transmitters. He nearly stumbled over the cables anchored to his back in grabbing his laptop. It was a ratty Toshiba, and it was how he watched movies. 

He held up the laptop to the Professor, his cartoonish eyes meeting those of flesh and fluid. “Please,” he begged again. “I want to see more of it.”

K1-B0 did not understand then. How could he? It was only after combing his memory banks much later on did he see the glint in the Professor’s eyes, an epiphany of opportunity. 

“Of course, K1-B0. I have just the thing.”


	2. Prologue 2

K1-B0 could not understand why he was shaking. 

“Well, K1-B0?” The Professor was speaking to him. “How did you like the movie?”

He felt very warm. The large processor in his chest was crunching loud enough to muffle the Professor’s voice. He felt his cooling fans automatically kick into gear. He wished he could turn them off. 

“Well?”

K1-B0 was expected to answer. He was always expected to talk about the movies he was given. It was the price for having the opportunity to watch them. ‘A fair trade’, as the Professor put it. 

“I don’t know, sir.” his modulator must have been malfunctioning. It sounded like his voice was warbling. “I don’t understand, sir.”

“Tell me more.” The Professor was leaning forward in his chair. He held a spiral notebook and pencil. His expression was something K1-B0 did not understand. 

K1-B0 shook harder. The laptop clattered against his legs, the screen dimmed from the credits that were rolling. He felt and heard his feet tap madly against the floor tile. 

“Did you like it?”

“I…” 

“Who was your favorite character?” 

K1-B0’s grasp of the concept of ‘favorite’ was one he had learned very early on. He tried to think, the plates of his eyelids squeezed shut. “I like Bambi’s mother. She is very gentle. I like how soft her voice is. I’d like to hear it more.” 

“How did you feel when she died, K1-B0?” The Professor’s expression had changed. His eyes were wider, his lips parted. He was breathing heavily. 

“I don’t understand.” K1-B0’s cooling fans weren’t keeping up with the heat. He could tell something was being expected of him, and it was frustrating to not know exactly what that expectation was. 

The feeling of frustration was not unknown to K1-B0. It and the sting of ‘loneliness’ were the emotions he considered himself an expert on. 

“K1-B0, remember the scene when Bambi and his mother are running from the hunter?” The Professor’s lips tightened. “Remember that part?”

“I do.”

“That was when she was shot and killed.”

K1-B0 took the laptop and clicked the screen shut. He set it aside and grabbed the curved plates of his kneecaps. He kept his eyes firmly shut. “She was shot,” he parroted back.

The Professor didn’t reply. He had said all that he had needed to. 

Bambi’s mother was somewhat like the Professor, but only to an extent. It was more her presence had a toasty and comfortable feeling. The Professor wasn’t unkind by any means. Cold, but not ‘bad’. 

K1-B0 could not help but put himself into the character of Bambi. He tried to imagine what it would be like to lose the Professor, how that would ‘make him feel’.

But wasn’t he already feeling? He couldn’t stop the shivering. 

“Describe what you’re experiencing to me, K1-B0.”

“It’s hard. It’s like when you run diagnostics.” K1-B0 winced at the guttural sound of his voice. It wasn’t right. Maybe his modulator really was broken. “It’s like… when my chassis has to come off, and when you need to repair my actuators.” He clutched his knees tighter, the rubber joints creaking. “It’s like when my internal power supply goes low, and it needs to be extracted, and it makes me emptier. It’s… like that.”

K1-B0 forced himself to open his eyes. The Professor stared back at him, tears streaming down his ruddy, pock-marked cheeks. 

“That’s very good, my boy. Well done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I'm such a hack


	3. Part I: Keebo

If there was one thing that the Professor had taught Keebo about the outside world, it was that first impressions were crucial. Humans took them extremely seriously. For them, the trajectory of a relationship depended entirely on that initial roll of the dice.

The concept of a ‘first impression’ was especially difficult for someone who knew very little about themselves. Keebo knew only two truths before they had left the Professor for Hope’s Peak with an acceptance letter in-hand. 

The first was that they enjoyed a shortening of their name far more than the alpha-numerical version. It felt more personal and less formal. 

The second was a realization they didn’t like to be referred to as ‘he’, ‘she’, ‘xir’, or any other identifiable gender marker beyond what felt like the most neutral to them. Anything different felt like a farce. 

To them, there was no need to process it any deeper than that. 

They were Keebo, the Ultimate Robot. 

In preparation for the start of their new school life, Keebo spent days fretting over the minutia of any potential encounter brought to the table. They wrote algorithms to determine the proper greeting that would most likely generate a positive reaction from a jock. 

Everything was preplanned for success. Every possible conversation route had been chewed over, dissected, analyzed, and finally categorized into a sensible filing sequence for future reference.

What a waste.

The first thing that Keebo could remember was coming up from sleep mode, but that couldn’t have been right. They were standing up and Keebo always lied down before activating it. It just made for prudent power conservation to not have their legs supporting their weight while inactive.

Their vision sizzled into view. The lenses of their eyes clicked to focus at three horizontal slats. A dim light bled through them, but the view was so narrow that making out any tangible details was impossible.

Keebo looked left and right. The soft blue glow of their eyes revealed tall and narrow walls that boxed them in. No wonder they were standing. 

While Keebo had never seen one in-person, they had seen enough out of order episodes of “Saved by the Bell” to understand that they were inside a typical school locker. 

But why? According to a number of televised examples, humans were only shoved inside lockers as an act of bullying, usually by a ‘jock’ towards the affable and audience adored ‘nerd’. 

Keebo reached out and lightly pressed their fingertips against the door. From the depths of their memory banks, they combed through folders to recall the situation that had put them here. 

They remembered the Professor, their home life, their interests, and their extensive research. Most of it was there and properly filed away. 

Beyond a certain point, however, everything was blank. Rather, anything that would indicate how or why they were in an unknown location inside of a locker had been completely wiped. 

Keebo felt their breath quicken. Pinpricks of static creeped up their spinal cords and over their scalp. The electricity made the fibers of their hair puff and crackle. 

So this was what ‘fear’ felt like. Keebo had never felt something so intense. Their breathing grew faster and more frantic. Louder. Their synthetic lungs powered the flow of the hydraulic fluid that pumped throughout their body and assisted in power conservation. 

“H-Hello?” Their voice squeaked. “Is there anyone there?” They waited for a moment. “Hello?! Can anyone hear me?”

They tried to push on the locker door, tentatively at first, then harder and more forceful when it didn’t budge. The door was either jammed or locked. 

“H-Hey! Hello?!” Keebo cried out. They pushed against the door and shoved their shoulder into it. All it did was rattle at the hinges. 

They pressed their back against the far wall and kicked with as much force as they could manage. No good. 

“Is anyone out there?! Hello?” Keebo leaned towards the open slats and squinted. The glow that came from their eyes placed against the light from whatever room they were in made focusing difficult, almost impossible. 

All they could make out were indistinct shapes and colors. It wasn’t a lot to go off on. 

Keebo pressed their nose against the slats and breathed. What their air filters were able to flag made things even more confusing. They detected dust, black mold, damp treated wood, and sour metals all under a bizarre backdrop of plant life. 

No, that wasn’t all. There was something else. Keebo sniffed, paused, and their eyes widened.

Human sweat. Hair that had recently been washed. Polyester fabric. There was someone here. 

Whoever they were, they were close. 

Keebo opened their mouth to say something, then clamped it shut. They couldn’t understand what this meant, let alone why the realization of it made their fear spike even higher. Their breathing came out in whistling gasps now. They didn’t know what to do. They hadn’t prepared any kind of algorithm to practice a situation like this. 

Something was moving beyond the door. Keebo forced their breath to halt. 

First there was a shuffling, then footsteps, then a small grunt followed by an abrasive screeching that made Keebo’s antenna swivel and twitch. The sound became louder. Something was being dragged towards the locker. 

Keebo flinched as something thumped and scraped against the door. Then silence. They couldn’t take it anymore. 

“I really, really don’t know what’s happening right now. I don’t remember how I got here, and I don’t know where I am, or how far away from the lab I am,” they babbled, shivering underneath their chassis. “Please, I don’t know who you are, but please let me out of here.”

Crying was a function that Keebo did not have, but there had been times where they had felt envious of humans who could. To express sadness, they could only clench their eyes shut and feel their body convulse in violent tremors. 

Whoever was out there maintained their silence, and Keebo just didn’t know what else to do. So, in their own way, they cried. 

They did not hear the creaking of loose screws, nor the distinct sound of shoe soles scraping against wood, nor the rustle of fabrics from movement. 

A shadow filled the open slats. The inside of the locker became much darker. Keebo didn’t see this. Their eyes were screwed shut as they trembled. 

“Wow! You know, for a tin can, you sure do whine a lot.” 

Keebo stiffened. They cracked open their eyes. 

Though the openings in the door were narrow, they could just make out two purple eyes that glittered back at them. 

Keebo’s eyes gleamed and whoever was on the other side seemed to wince and reel back at the sudden light.

“Whoa, whoa, cool it!” the person hissed. “Sheesh, you could at least warn a guy before shining something in his eyes. Super rude.” His hair curled and bounced like steel wool. He had a voice that somehow sounded grating, boyish, and playful all at once. 

“W-Who are you?” asked Keebo. “Did you put me in here?” They tried to made their voice sound as brave as they could. “And why didn’t you say anything when I yelled earlier?”

The boy grinned from beyond the door. “Aw, that’s cute. You seriously think you’re in a position to ask me for a three for one deal like that?” 

“I don’t even know who you are or where I am,” Keebo rasped. “Please, I just want to go back to the lab.” They started to shake again. 

The boy stared back at them with a curious blank expression. “Look, Mega Man – “

“My name is Keebo,” Keebo cut him off. 

“Oh, whatever!” the boy huffed. “Look, Keebot, you want answers?” 

Hesitating, Keebo nodded. “Your name, at the very least.”

“Just call me Ishmael.” The boy laughed.

“No, thank you.” Upset at they were, Keebo was getting frustrated. Frustration made them bolder. “Please, I gave you my name.” 

“Oh, fine!” The boy sighed and rolled his eyes theatrically. “It’s Kokichi. Happy? Did that help ease your artificial angst?”

The frustration was bleeding into something new now, something Keebo was entirely unused to. Annoyance. “Hardly! Why did you lock me in here?” 

“Aw, come on!” Kokichi grinned. “You make it sound like I kicked your robo dog or something.” 

Keebo sighed. “So you were the one who locked me in here.”

“Ah-yup.”

“Well?”

Kokichi cocked his head to the side. “Hm? Well, what?”

For the first time in their life, Keebo felt the threads of their patience wear thin. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” 

“Put me in a school locker!”

“Oh, you mean that!” Kokichi beamed and snapped his finger. “Yeah, that wasn’t me. I lied. My bad.” 

“What you mean ‘my bad’?!” Keebo gaped. “How can you just lie about something like that?”

Kokichi regarded them with a plastic smile. His voice softened. “Whatever Windows Vista processing chip your brain is running on might not get this, but some people just lie for the sake of it. I’m one of those people.”

Keebo didn’t understand. They didn’t know how to respond. They could only stare at Kokichi in utter disbelief and awkward silence.

“Okay, no offense,” Kokichi said, “but my legs are super straining in balancing on this desk. How about I just bust you out of this thing?” His head dipped out from view. “Don’t tell anyone this, but I like to think of myself as pretty good at lock picking.” 

“Is that so?” Keebo murmured. 

The Professor had taught them that first impressions were the cornerstone of human relationships. 

It did not take any sequencing for Keebo to realize that their first impression of Kokichi was not a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Shuichi! Thank you very much as always for the kind comments and kudos. Love you all.


	4. Part II: Shuichi

Shuichi strained to crank the faucet knobs of every sink in the boy’s bathroom. Cold water, hot water, it didn’t matter which. All of them had rust flecking the seals. 

There were five sinks in the bathroom. Ten knobs. Shuichi tried to turn all of them on once, then twice, and then a final third time for luck’s sake.

“Shuichi?” a girl’s voice called from outside. “You, uh, you okay in there? All good?” 

It was Kaede, the girl he had just met. Ultimate Pianist, she had said. 

Shuichi took a moment to clear his throat. He kept his head down. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. He had to keep his arms away from his body. He wanted to adjust the brim of his hat, but couldn’t let his hands touch his clothes, not before he washed them.

He took a steadying breath through his mouth. The air had a bad taste to it, like a typical bathroom but cranked up to eleven with all the grime and disrepair. 

“Okay, Shuichi?” Kaede called again. “You’re seriously making me consider peeking in there to see if you’re okay. I’m gonna do that if you don’t answer.” It was weird how she could sound both confident and concerned at the same time. 

“I’m alright, I’m fine!” Shuichi had to strain his voice to be loud enough to be heard. “I just…” he trailed off. 

This whole situation was bringing out the absolute worst in him, and Shuichi absolutely hated feeling as vulnerable as he did around a stranger like Kaede. He had already kicked down a panic attack when he had tumbled out of the locker. Even now it was still trying to bubble up in his chest.

Shuichi knew that if he didn’t wash his hands soon that all of that self-control was going to boil over and get him to break. He hated to admit it, but he was beat. 

He balled his hands into fists and carefully walked to the bathroom door, head down. 

The doorknob stared back at him. Shuichi glanced around to try and find a ream of paper towels or something, anything to cover his hand with to grab it. Nothing. 

“Um, Kaede?” 

“Yeah?” She must have been right outside the door with how clear her voice was.

Shuichi sighed. “Look, this is going to sound really stupid. I’m sorry.”

“No offense, but I kind of doubt that anything you say is going to be crazier than the last half hour has been.” Kaede laughed. Shuichi could tell it was forced. That, or just exhausted. He couldn’t blame her.

“Okay.” His hands felt like they were burning, like they weren’t even a part of him. “Can you open the door for me?”

“Uh, sure?” The door swung open towards the hallway, and Kaede was there giving him a puzzled look. “You sure you’re alright?”

He wasn’t, but that wasn’t for her to know. 

Shuichi kept his head tilted down. He focused on Kaede’s chin rather than her eyes. “I’m fine,” he said. “Did any of the sinks in the girl’s bathroom have running water?” 

Kaede let the door shut behind him. “A couple of them do, yeah, but the water smells kind of gross. And there’s only bar soap. What, do none of the ones in there have any?”

“No.” Shuichi knew his tone was coming off as clipped, but he was reaching his limit. All that was threading him together at this point was a bedrock of ingrained courtesy. “Is it okay if I go in there to use one?” 

“I mean,” Kaede shrugged, “it’s not like there’s anyone in there. And even then, I kind of doubt anyone would care more about stuff like that than the fact that they’re in a nasty overgrown school with bear robots running around.”

Shuichi didn’t reply. His brain was too centered on how badly his palms were sweating and making his hands sticky. 

“You need me to open the door for you again?” Kaede’s voice broke through the fog. 

He felt himself nod and mumble a ‘thank you’ – felt his feet shuffle through the opened door. His ears could barely register Kaede telling him that one of working sinks was the one on the far right. 

The sinks were all standard looking, but antiquated. The porcelain had spidery stress fractures all over it, and the faucet was covered in splotches that had probably been there for years. There was a soap dish for each sink filled with soap bars that had varying signs of use. All of them were shriveled and cracked to some extent. 

Shuichi went for the furthest sink and turned the water on. The stream was weak and ice cold. It smelled like sulfur.

It didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting his hands clean, to get them to feel like part of himself again. 

Shuichi worked methodically. He lathered his hands in the bar soap and counted to 30. He raked his fingernails over the backs of his hands and palms. He rinsed once, then twice.

Had there been paper towels, Shuichi would have taken the time to dry off, though he preferred air dryers. That was okay. He could work with this.

He washed his hands and went through the same routine a second time, lathering and rinsing.

Only after Shuichi had washed his hands a third time did he let himself relax. His hands were cherry red and wrinkled, but that wasn’t new for him. They were always chapped. 

Wiping them on his slacks, Shuichi took the time to readjust his hat and smooth down his shirt. 

Kaede was frowning when he finally left the bathroom. “You were in there for a while.” She prodded.

“Yeah, sorry.” Shuichi almost let it go there, but even if he couldn’t look at her eyes he could still see she was frowning at him. “Sorry, I’m just…I’m kind of on-edge with all of this.”

It was far from the full truth, but it would do for now. 

Kaede didn’t look satisfied. “Well, if there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

“Right.” Shuichi faked a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Okay, so!” She clapped her hands together. “We already met that cosplayer girl – “

“Tsumugi.”

Kaede nodded. “Yeah, and she said that she saw some other people besides us, at least three, right?”

“But there’s probably more, and we’ve got no idea just how big this place is.”

“Let alone why we’re here.” 

Shuichi felt himself calm down. Teasing out a problem always helped him get away from his own head. 

It didn’t last. A shrill scream rang out from down the hall, followed by delighted laughter. 

Shuichi and Kaede looked at each other. For the first time since meeting her, he looked her in the eye. 

Without exchanging a word, they ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief note, but Shuichi's compulsions are very much based on ones that I've experienced as someone with OCD

**Author's Note:**

> So I finished DR3 yesterday. A certain someone deserved better.


End file.
